


Dig My Grave with a Diamond Spade

by AngelPair



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Cardverse, FrUK, Imprisonment, Kidnapping, M/M, Rescue, but they're not at all ships so don't worry if they squick you, mentions of political marriages like america and england or france and liechtenstein, mentions of some abuse and violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-05-17
Packaged: 2018-11-01 19:49:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10928847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AngelPair/pseuds/AngelPair
Summary: The Queen of Spades has spent god-knows-how-long in a gruelling captivity, waiting for his king to come. When help finally arrives, it is not from the king of his kingdom, but from the king of his heart.From a list of starters on Tumblr. Request was for Cardverse France and England, with the prompt “Is that really you? Oh my god, I found you, I can’t believe I found you…”





	Dig My Grave with a Diamond Spade

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone! This is a request/prompt that I originally posted on my writing blog a couple of days ago. You can find it over here:
> 
> https://angel-log.tumblr.com/post/160709906769/any-chance-i-can-get-is-that-really-you-oh-my
> 
> Since the work had pretty decent wordage, as well as a title already, I decided to cross-post it over here where a few more people will see it.
> 
> The blog above is my new blog specifically for writing junk. I plan to do a lot of request memes and stuff, as well as posting extra info and updates for my works over here, so if that's of interest to anyone please check it out :D
> 
> This specific prompt (originally a list of starters that I asked to receive as prompts) was: “Is that really you? Oh my god, I found you, I can’t believe I found you…” with France and England in cardverse.
> 
> As I said on the original post: This fic is safe for work, however proceed with caution if you are sensitive as there are some distressing themes – kidnapping, mentioned violence, sad childhoods, etcetera.

Arthur hummed softly to himself as he ran his still-working hand, with incredible care, through the shreds of his dirty blue cloak.

 

It was an old, nostalgic lullaby, the lyrics to which he could not remember, hadn’t even heard since he was an innocent and carefree five-year-old. He didn’t, in fact, remember a single word of his mother tongue. It had been all he could speak when he had first been dragged, frightened and alone without his family, into that deceivingly beautiful castle. He never heard that language – ‘dirty and barbaric’ – uttered again, found a rubber strap stinging his mouth if a single word slipped past his young lips. All he had left was the tune. For hundreds and hundreds of sad nights as he grew – raised at the hands of self-interested, strict and vicious, counsellors and nobles – he would hum that tune to himself as replacement for a warm hand stroking his hair as he drifted off to sleep. Now at the mercy of the even more self-interested, the less invested, the unregulated and the much more vicious, the tune was everything. All of his comfort, all of his entertainment, all of his company.

 

The Spadians were not coming for him. Alfred was not coming for him. Their mark had ruined his life, dragged him away from everything he knew and dumped into the company of royals and nobles as cold as the castle’s polished marbled courtyard in the deadest of winters. Yet they wouldn’t pay him back by saving him from this hell. There was nothing these men could have asked for that the the kingdom couldn’t provide. The wealth of the monarchy was almost infinite, no treasure unattainable in Alfred’s absolute kingship. As the strongest kingdom in the world, no stretch of land was too far to be searched and no number of soldiers too grand to send on campaign. But what these men wanted had not been provided. He knew as soon as the carefully guarded bed-chamber had been switched for a basement cell, the warm breakfasts and nutritious three-course dinners replaced with absolutely nothing on most days, and stale left-overs chucked to the floor on far too rare an occasion.

 

The hands that ticked steadily around the precious quartz clock in the old cathedral, far away from Arthur now in the Spade’s capital, were all that kept the Queen alive. Quartz for queen, kinoite for king and jasper for jack. If his clock stopped, he had died, and the whole population would know it. If the hands fell, shattered on the floor, he had been murdered, and that could be no less hidden. For the sake of the image of the court, there would be no choice but to hunt down the murderers ruthlessly and drag them back to the castle for their public torture and execution. The ultimate price to pay for the kingdom’s ultimate crime – regicide.

 

The Queen, for the sake of kidnappers and their own desire for life, would be kept alive. Not kept well, because it would be far too much effort to maintain his good condition when there was no angry king coming to collect him. And not returned, either, for kidnapping a monarch was a serious crime itself and in his time in captivity Arthur had learned faces and names and locations and careers.

 

He would have been returned, of course, if the kidnappers had been given their ransom, if they had been able to hand him over and flee with their heftier pouches to wherever they wished their money to take them.

 

But it hadn’t happened.

 

At first, guessing the reasons why had been a torture for the frightened Spade’s queen. Was it pride – a refusal of the world’s highest authority to buckle to anyone? Or had Arthur’s temper really been that much of a nuisance that his own king would abandon him to such a fate? It was true, there was no love between he and his king, but such a fate - a loveless marriage - was far from uncommon in court. All the king and queen were supposed to do was tolerate each-other and, for the most part, Arthur and Alfred did. Even cared for each other – slightly at least, after all their years of companionship. Or Arthur had, at least. Not now, though, after all this time. For Alfred to even cross his mind these days was rare.

 

For weeks and weeks, the constant wondering had been a vicious mental torture, but Arthur didn’t care anymore. He was too far gone. He had always thought himself strong – had been raised to be a pretty, picturesque exemplar of a queen on the outside but to bubble with vicious poison on the inside. If these men had wanted information and not money, they would not have gotten it from Queen Arthur.

 

Or so Arthur had thought. In reality, he had only been able to take so much isolation, so much starvation, so much confusion and fear, before that poison had dried up and his insides had started to crumble. When the beatings had started – one man’s frustrations at the burden of the _years_ they were going to have to keep the queen alive manifesting in violence – Arthur had shattered on the inside as well as the outside. Four times was all it had taken to break him completely. Loud arguing had surrounded each instance about being _careful_ _with the goods before we’re all hanging_ and after that sixth time the beatings had stopped. But, without medical care, some of the damage had been unrepairable. Enough desperate months had past that bones should have healed but one hand did not work, one rib could not be lain upon without risk of breaking through the skin, one hip was too out of place to support the weak body into standing, one mind had been retreated into and with Arthur’s entire world consisting of a mouldy barred cell, it was rarely left.

 

For the most part, he just had his lyricless lullaby. Sometimes – less now than ever – he had memories. Memories that were not a sad, Spadian blue, but bright and happy and yellow, sparkling like diamonds. Sometimes they were warm and gentle – young adults meeting secretly in a field of buttercups on 'royal business’; teenagers slipping away from grand balls to drink amber whisky in the bushes until they couldn’t walk straight; young children escaping from bed chambers after cross-kingdom diplomatic meetings to curl up by the kitchen fire and eat butter cakes; a thousand other stolen golden moments. Sometimes they were tainted red like a setting sun, full of spitting insults and angry fire and even still they were happy and wonderful.

 

Arthur didn’t know much about these memories anymore, perhaps because, unlike his lullaby, they hurt as much as they healed. Perhaps it was better to just completely forget. Or perhaps it was natural with the passing of time. Memories only lasted so long and as far as Arthur knew he had been in here for centuries. Recently, one of the men had spat on the stale bread as he threw it to the wet stone floor and hissed at Arthur – _two years of food wasted feeding your royal gob, two years we’ve all been hungrier than ever_. But Arthur didn’t trust a single word that came out of his captors’ mouths. There had been too many mind games already, to give him a false sense of time to further break his psyche – it wouldn’t be a surprise. So, Arthur had no idea how long he had been down here. Centuries, could have been centuries.

 

A biting cold breeze. Arthur curled in on himself, but not from the wind. It meant someone had opened the door, and Arthur didn’t like facing 'someones’. Just liked to hide and pray they had food. He drew the scraps of his blue queen’s coat over his head as if it were a veil. It didn’t do anything to keep him safe in reality but it checked a little instinctual box in his brain, the box that said 'take cover, stay out of sight’. He only peeked out, blearily dragging himself back to the real world somewhat, when he realised that this was not an ordinary visit.

 

No-one had climbed down the steps to kick the bars and chuck food at him, or give him a fresh bucket to do his business in. On the rare occasion he had the luxury of being 'fixed up’, in some lazy way. Hosed down and a fresh prison sack to wear. But now, all there was was an unmoving figure, red eyed and face unfamiliar, crouched incredibly tentatively up in the doorway. They had a lantern, couldn’t see far into the room, couldn’t see Arthur yet. The queen’s mind, momentarily frozen, was now screaming danger. He had learned what to expect from his kidnappers, but not from this stranger. Who knew what this stranger could do to him? In his panic, as he scrambled to the furthest corner he could, he kicked some scrap metal and sent it clattering. The figure jumped, nearly dropped its lantern, before calling out with a voice full of nerves.

 

“H-hello, is anyone in here?”

 

It was not the language of his kidnappers, but the gentle lull of Central Diamonds. Arthur had to repeat the sentence in his head a few times over until the once familiar language started coming back to him. He of course did not respond.

 

“Hello?” the voice called again, and there was a laugh from just outside. Another voice, full of jest.

 

“You have to actually go _in_ and look. Don’t be a pansy,” the voice taunted.

 

“I’m not a pansy, you’ve locked me in three cellars already,” the voice complained, “Don’t blame me for being wary,” _Young,_ Arthur noted, _and a soldier?_ He could only guess by what he could blearily make out of the man’s clothes. A third, much gruffer voice joined the conversation.

 

“And he has been punished for each occasion. It will not happen again. Now hurry, His Majesty is waiting,”

 

_Majesty?_ Arthur’s thoughts were cut short when the young man began to ascend. He didn’t even dare whimper as the light grew closer. _Danger, danger, danger, go away, go away._ The pause in movement and a loud gasp made it clear that Arthur had been spotted, and he only trembled as he curled in on himself the best he could. The lantern clattered to the floor, extinguished itself. The figure fled. Arthur’s confusion didn’t over-rule his fear as there was a flurry of activity at the door - he stayed hidden, curled away from the world and all of its dangers. Then, a voice, a beautiful voice. The voice of a golden-finned siren calling out, but not to him. Not yet.

 

“Let me through – move, now! Give me that torch, I have to see, I have to…”

 

Arthur, through any amount of fear, pain and trauma, would know that voice, would not shy from it. There was nothing that the world could do to him that would make him distrust that voice. That voice – he would follow it anywhere - to the middle of a battlefield, off a cliff, into the very pits of hell itself.

 

“Is that really you? Oh my god, I found you, I can’t believe I found you…”

 

The voice was breathless – in shock, horror, wonder? Arthur didn’t know.

 

“Fr…fra,” he tried, but with so long not speaking, only humming, it only ended in a frustrated cough. Still, he risked a glance, knowing the torch light would be far too bright for his unadjusted eyes. For just a moment he was able to meet the warm eyes of Francis, the King of Diamonds, not his king but the king that came for him anyway. So full of panic, and so full of relief at the same time. It was all he got from the small glimpse before he had to hide away in pain of the bright flame.

 

“Arthur, Arthur, oh my god, Arthur. Arthur is it you? Is it really? I’ve searched these two years straight. Is it a dream? God…soldiers…get him out, get him out. Force the bars. Bring the doctor down, he’s hurt. Oh god, Arthur. Don’t be scared, I don’t know what they’ve done to you but please don’t be scared of me,”

 

Scared of Francis? Arthur couldn’t think much as the situation slowly stunned his mind, but somewhere that idea registered as ridiculous. “N-never,” he managed to rasp, so quiet that Francis never heard him. The excitement, however, was all too much, all too stressful, bars being pried and Francis babbling and giving orders. Arthur’s last thoughts before he gave into the shock that was shutting his brain down were of the Diamond’s king.

 

_Francis, how did you even find me here? And in person. You have your own kingdom to take care of, idiot._

 

And the world went black.

 

* * *

 

Humming. Soft humming, not his own. A hand, a real hand, stroking his hair Something soft and downy cushioning his head, a warm blanket wrapped around him. Oh god, had he died? Was he in the afterlife now, had he gone to heaven? What had killed him? Starvation, illness? Why did everything still hurt so much? Arthur cracked an eye open and winced. It was so bright, he’d only had darkness for so long, he couldn’t bare to keep his eyes open more than a crack. However, ever so blearily, he swore he could make out an angel hovering above him.

 

“Doctor, the visor. He can’t see,”

 

_Not dead,_ Arthur thought with some relief, _wrong kind of angel._

 

He tried to speak as something was clipped to his face. Tinted glass, for the soldiers on desert campaigns. It darkened the world, allowed him to see. Not much because he couldn’t quite move, but the ceiling far above him and and a godly face hovering over him – a face that he had missed more than anything. He could barely process what he was feeling. Broken, still felt as broken as ever, yet at the same time it as if all the weights that had been keeping his bones crushed were lifted. He wanted to say something, tried again to say something as Francis cried above him, but all that came out was a pained groan.

 

“Hush, don’t try to speak,” Francis clearly trying to hold it together, was dabbing his eyes with cream handkerchief, a golden diamond embroidered on one corner. It stressed Arthur that he didn’t know if the tears were from misery or relief. The expression was too conflicted to tell, “I’ll explain everything, just don’t try to speak. I know you hate not knowing things. Some of it might be a heavy to your heart, but you deserve to know,”

 

Arthur nodded gently. With his good hand, he managed to find Francis’s own hand in his hair. He clutched it as tightly as his weak body could, and the King grasped back tighter, as if letting go would mean Arthur slipping away forever.

 

“You’ll be wondering where we are…we’re in Diamonds. Not Central. This is the Zwingli’s old residence,” Arthur nodded again. The Zwinglis – Lili, the queen, and Vash, the jack, were siblings, who had been marked for their positions at the same time. Arthur knew that before the clocks sealed their fates, they had lived far out, isolated from the main villages in a small mountain cottage. If Francis had taken him this far, there was obviously some danger they were avoiding.

 

“You’ve been out for about three days – artificially induced. The doctor thought it would be for the best whilst we were travelling. We only reached here a few hours ago. Not…not many people know that I have found you yet. No-one I don’t trust,” Arthur nodded again, the only affirmation of his understanding that he could give. The wheels were turning in his head. There was no particular war or unrest to hide from – Francis was hiding him from the peaceful populace,

 

“Lili and Vash…they are taking good care of the kingdom for me, I sent them word that you were found. This here is Doctor Lukas. He’s a good man, trustworthy. Please don’t fear him. He’ll always be here with you when I can’t be, I chose him because I think you could become good friends. Three of the soldiers from my deck – the six, Vlad; the seven, Sadiq; and the nine, Lars. That’s it, that’s everyone who knows. I’m sorry. You’re not…I don’t want to do this to you but…myself and these people will be the only people you know for a while…maybe the rest of your life if you stay. I’m sorry,” Francis broke down again, and everything inside of Arthur hurt to see it. He squeezed the king’s hand to let him know _it’s okay, don’t cry_. He didn’t know why he had to be kept so in such little company but after so long of complete isolation he couldn’t have cared less. Especially if it was what Francis believed was best. He trusted Francis.

 

“Arthur, I love you, I’ve never told you because I thought it could never be, but I love you,”

 

_I love you too, you stupid git._

 

“I’m not…sending you back to Spades right now. I’m sorry, if that’s what you want. I’m so, so sorry. I understand that you probably want to see your king again, you’ll have missed him over these years,”

 

Arthur frowned. Not since the beginning when his nights has been spent fretting over his abandonment had he really given much thought to the Spadian king.

 

“And if, when you’re fully recovered, you want to go back to your kingdom, I’ll have you returned immediately. But not a moment before then. I’m keeping you here until you’re better,”

 

_But why would I want to go back?_

 

“I…I’m sorry Arthur. I’m really sorry. It’s not safe for you there, not until you’re back to full health. I’ve spent two years searching for you behind the scenes but they have not spent a minute. Yao tried to organise a campaign, and I urged your as much as I could to pay the ransom, even offered to pay it myself. But they didn’t search, didn’t agree with me. They’re cruel, those nobles, and they have Alfred all entwined in their evil web. They…saw it as an opportunity, you’re kidnapping, saw you as in the way. You know how court works, it’s just a game to these people - who can have the most influence over the monarchy. You were too smart to let them manipulate the running of the kingdom. That’s the job of a queen – to be sharp to those things. I think that’s why the clock chose you. Because you’re smart, you’re brave and you’re sharp. I don’t know why it chose Alfred, he’s an _imbecile,_ ” Francis spat, “He listened to every lie they told him. Only useful as a powerful king when you were by his side,”

 

Arthur felt better, a heavy weight that he didn’t know was still burdening lifted. He wasn’t abandoned because he was bad, but because he was too good. But Francis was crying again, and Arthur’s heart was breaking. It was so rare that he ever saw the king cry – probably not since they were children. He was a king, flamboyant as he was, and he had to be so grand that people could almost taste the power in the air when he was around. Kings were raised tough, it took a lot to make them cry.

 

“Francis…”Arthur rasped out slowly, and the distraught king immediately hushed him.

 

“Please, don’t try to talk, don’t strain yourself. Your body is weak from shock and malnutrition, and your voice will be sore from misuse. Just rest for now,”

 

Arthur shook his head with a small, defiant twitch of his eyebrows, “Stay…in D…Diamonds. With -” Arthur gave a pained grunt and a small cough, “- you. Forever. Love you,”

 

Francis was still crying, but his expression reflected a shocked, ecstatic relief. For Arthur, it was a relief too that he had soothed the king’s distress.

 

“Arthur, god, I was so worried. It was such an awful time – worse for you, I know. I never want to spend that much time without you again. Never want you to be unsafe, be hurt, be scared. I’m glad, I’m so glad, didn’t know how you felt about me, didn’t know if you wanted to be with Alfred…” Francis was rambling again and Arthur stopped him by freeing his hand and pressing a finger to the King’s lips.

 

“Promise…your duties…kingdom,”

 

Francis nodded in understanding. “They’ll come first, I promise. They’ll have to. But I’ll be here anytime I can, I’ll try for once a week. Letters…every single day. I can have that arranged, and…”

 

Arthur stopped him again, in the same way as before. This time, his fingers lingered on the Francis’s rough lips. Usually they would be soft, possibly even glossed, but the King had clearly been on cold the road for some time. Arthur couldn’t have cared less if Francis was missing a face all together as long as he was there.

 

“Kiss me…idiot,” and wide-eyed, Francis froze, before his entire face completely softened. Being stared at like he was the most precious thing on the planet, Arthur couldn’t help his face from heating up.

 

“Since we were children, I’ve wanted to kiss you. It’s been a long wait, but thank you for letting me do it now,”

 

Francis leaned into him and their lips met. Pressed softly together - they didn’t go further than that – dry, stressed lips on dry, stressed lips, but somehow it was more comfortable than any diplomatic kiss with Alfred, felt more _right,_ even, than anything in his life had so far. To live in this mountain cottage for the rest of his life, seeing Francis even once a week, Arthur knew was a blessing, and he didn’t intend to step foot in the Spade’s kingdom ever again. The clocks would cope, would realise he wasn’t coming back, would select a new queen. And Arthur, for the first time since he was a toddler, could be happy and loved in more than just stolen golden moments with his stolen golden king.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading <3


End file.
